


red and gold

by BansheeLydia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Cora Hale, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, F/M, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, SWSWeek2017, Violence, Werewolf Hunters, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, established Stiles Stilinski/Erica Reyes, pre Stiles Stilinski/Erica Reyes/Cora Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 02:37:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10527069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BansheeLydia/pseuds/BansheeLydia
Summary: Being shot doesn’t hurt.It’s the look on Erica’s face when he finally manages to focus on her that’s agonizing, that makes him want to reach out and take away that terror on her face, wipe away those tears.





	

Being shot doesn’t hurt as much as Stiles expected it to.

At first, he doesn’t even realize what happened. One minute he was running, fingertips reaching out to brush against Erica’s, so sure they were gonna make it, that they’d get to the rest of the pack and they’d be able to fend off the hunters together. And the next he was on the floor, unable to breathe, choking out blood onto the mud and leaves under his face.

Gentle hands roll him over. Sharp fingers smack his cheek, getting him to open his eyes. He tries to lift his hand; fails, lets it curl over his chest instead. He can feel hot blood pumping out over his fingers, staining his skin.

Being shot doesn’t hurt. 

It’s the look on Erica’s face when he finally manages to focus on her that’s agonizing, that makes him want to reach out and take away that terror on her face, wipe away those tears. The worst part is that he can’t _breathe_ , he can’t force out the words he wants to say, can only make this horrible choking sound as more blood spits past his teeth. 

She’s talking to him. Her hands are covered in blood – his blood, her own, maybe some of the hunters’, he doesn’t know – as they fumble through his hair, over his face, to the wound in his chest.

“Stay with me,” she’s whispering. “Hold on. Just – just stay with me, Stiles.”

He’s vaguely aware of the others; Boyd, stood protectively over them, claws and fangs out. Malia, ripping the throat out of the one who shot him with her bare hands. Arrow after arrow whistling past, followed by the clean cut of Kira’s blade. Scott, fighting with Derek to get past three hunters, fighting to get to him. 

And then there’s Cora.

Cora’s strong, sure hands tipping his head back. Cora’s eyes flashing blood red. Cora’s fangs gleaming under the moonlight as she strikes down, sinks them deep into his shoulder. 

The last thing he sees before he passes out is red and gold. 

***

He comes to slowly.

He’s expecting pain and holds his breath for a moment, but he just feels comfortable. A little hot, just bordering on too much, but that’s probably due to the two bodies pressed against him on either side.

There are fingers stroking through his hair and it feels so nice that he just stays still, eyes closed as he lets himself drift again. 

Eventually, though, lips brush against his ear. “I know you’re awake.”

He smiles, opening his eyes. Erica shifts up onto her elbow so she can look down at him, blonde curls tumbling down to curtain them as she just gazes at him. She doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t either, but he’s already tipping his face up slightly when she leans down to kiss him, just a soft, gentle brush of their lips. 

He can almost _feel_ Cora roll her eyes, but when he looks at her, her expression is unreadable. She’s lying against his other side, close enough for their ankles and knees to knock together under the sheets when she sets her book aside, thumbing down the corner of a page to mark her place.

They’re in Stiles’ bedroom. His one at home, not the one he shares with Erica. The first thing he does is check there’s nothing embarrassing they might have seen while he was unconscious, like boxers on the floor or – _god forbid_ – the notebook filled of terrible poetry for Erica he wrote his senior year of high school that he never showed her, but could never bring himself to throw out (since she’d ended up asking him to prom and they’d been dating for six years, it all worked out anyway, minus the humiliation of his attempts at rhyming). 

When he doesn’t spot anything, he lies back again. “What happened?”

“Well,” Cora says, complete with a disapproving frown, “You got shot.”

He winces. “Yeah, I was...I was kinda there for that part, thanks.” 

He rubs at his bare chest. No bandages, no wound, just smooth skin. 

“Cora gave you the Bite,” Erica supplies. He always finds it funny how the capital is always implied when the werewolves say it; not _a_ bite, _the_ bite. 

Cora shifts slightly. “Scott wasn’t going to get to you in time. It was the only way to save you.”

She looks uncomfortable. Stiles wonders if it’s because she’s had to give someone the Bite – it’s been four years since Cora became an alpha and Stiles is her first ever beta – but when her gaze slides away from his face, he realizes she’s _nervous_.

He hazards a guess. “You think I’m gonna be mad that you’re my alpha, not Scott?” 

She shrugs. “I don’t care.”

But she _does_ , Stiles can just... _feel_ it, so he reaches out, rests his fingertips against hers on the sheets. “You saved my life.” 

She shrugs again, but some of the tension she’d been holding has melted away. Stiles rubs at his chest again, still finding it so weird that he’s completely healed. He doesn’t feel _that_ different. His hearing is better, sure; he can hear all three of their heartbeats and it’s kinda comforting. He can smell the soft, sweet note of Erica’s perfume and the scent of iced coffee lingering on Cora’s lips. So he does feel different, sure, but not overwhelmingly so.

But then, Scott hadn’t, either. Not at first.

He knows that if he lets himself start to worry, he’ll end up fixating on the next full moon and losing control and how different he’s going to be now he’s a werewolf and holy shit _his dad_ , so he takes a deep, calming breath. He lets the gentle tug of Erica’s fingers through his hair and the steady thrum of her heartbeat relax him again. 

“How long was I out?”

“Few hours,” Cora replies. “The Bite took immediately. Kinda like you were made for it. But the bullet did a lot of damage and we had to rummage around to get it out. It took you a while to heal, both from the Bite and from the gunshot wound.”

Erica’s expression darkened slightly. She leaned down to nuzzle at Stiles’ throat. “I owe Malia a muffin basket.”

Stiles can’t help but laugh slightly. “Honey, we’re not giving Malia a muffin basket for ripping someone’s throat out.”

She doesn’t respond – which pretty much means Malia is _definitely_ getting a muffin basket – and drags her lips up his jaw to kiss him. Smiling, he closes his eyes, toying with one of her curls as he kisses her back. It never fails to send his heart pounding and happiness unfurl in his belly when he kisses her, but now he can taste the faint trace of cherry lip balm and hear her heart skip up when their tongues meet and it’s _incredible_. 

“I can’t believe you got shot,” she mutters when she pulls back. “You dork.”

“Love you.”

She presses another, quick kiss to his lips, an unspoken _I love you too_ , and settles back against his side, head pillowed on his chest. Her hair tickles his skin but he doesn’t mind, just wraps his arm around her. 

Cora curls up on his other side. He doesn’t know if it’s part of them bonding as an alpha and beta, but he kind of suspects it also has something to do with the look on her face before she’d bit him, and the way her fingers find Erica’s on Stiles’ belly and her toes tuck between his ankles under the sheets.

Either way, he finds he really doesn’t mind.

**Author's Note:**

> written for day 2 of shipping with stiles week over at shippingwithstiles.tumblr.com 
> 
> I'm accepting prompts at allirica.tumblr.com :)


End file.
